BBC News - 9 Mar 04

Descent into Darkness

By Christine Jeavans
BBC News, 9 Mar 04, 09:13 GMT

The giant coal face cutting machine at
Hartworth.

The pickaxes and pit ponies are long gone. But
even with new technology, life at the coal face is still cramped, dirty
and demanding.

It is a bright but bitter February morning at
Harworth colliery, north Nottinghamshire, and an icy wind blows around
the massive concrete pithead that stands out like a monolith to anyone
passing on the nearby A1M.

But nevertheless, I have been advised not to wear
anything but the standard issue pale blue Y-fronts and vest underneath
my day-glo orange boiler suit as it will be a sweaty 30C at the coal
face.

With the addition of boots, shin pads, reflective
jacket, hardhat, goggles and carbon monoxide filter, miner 6105 for the
day is ready to head underground.

"Take your last look at sunlight and your last breath
of fresh air," says production manager Ashley Britton cheerfully as we
enter the cage lift, or "chair" as it is known and the door clangs
shut.

Soon the surface is slipping away and we are hurtling
down 960 metres - the height of six Blackpool Towers - remarkably
smoothly.

Seconds later we are at the bottom and in a wide and
fairly airy tunnel.

There is no coal in evidence yet, in fact rather than
being predominantly black, everything is covered in white limestone
powder as a fire-proofing measure.

Riding the Conveyor Belt

Coal has been mined at Harworth since the 1920s and,
naturally, the material closest to the shaft was extracted first.

This means it is an hour and a quarter's journey to
the current face, known as Deep Soft Seam 19s, three miles away.

Dave McGarry: "I do wonder what would I do if the pit
shut down.

First we clamber aboard the "paddy", a basic train
with open sides, then it's onto our bellies on a conveyor belt which
zips along in the dark, banking somewhat alarmingly around corners.

Only at the end of this are we within walking
distance of the face and the heat and humidity have intensified
dramatically.

Whereas earlier there was some overhead lighting, now
just the light from our hat-lamps illuminates the gloom.

The tunnel gets narrower, lower and more difficult to
negotiate. The roof has changed from corrugated steel and sturdy looking
arches to a lumpy surface studded with huge bolts and held back by metal
mesh.

Jagged coal is clearly visible and brightly coloured
cardboard tubes hang down. These "telltales" are to measure movement in
the roof, explains UDM union rep Dave McGarry. "If it moves more than
five millimetres we get out."

Finally we have to climb at right-angles through a
small hole which acts like a chimney, funnelling dust laden wind past
our faces at great speed.

Davey Safety Lamps

These traditional lamps
are still used to test for methane.

The flame, encased in a wire
gauze, changes appearance if methane is present.

The lamp's design keeps the
flame separate from the explosive gas.

And there it is, the black, glinting coal face, two
metres high and stretching off into the darkness.

Above our heads are the long tongues of the immense
hydraulic pit props that are keeping this particular section of roof
from caving in.

Underfoot there is a gooey sludge of coal dust,
limestone powder and water through which methane bubbles up.

We hear it first, then a giant machine appears from
out of the dark, chewing through coal with measured ease.

Dust sprays off the teeth of its top cutting drum at
the front of the contraption, while a second, lower, set bring up the
rear.

In one pass or "shear" of the 230m face it takes out
515 tonnes of coal which are deposited onto a belt running out of
another tunnel, and sent to the surface.

Six men are working here in the cramped and sweaty
conditions of the coal face. A further 20 or so are also underground
working on developing the next face.

But despite the tough working environment, not one
man I meet wants to swap mining for another career.

The camaraderie is unbeatable, says team supervisor
Mark Walker. Like the other men, Mark is filthy with coal dust and is
wearing just shorts, boots and safety gear.

"Due to the conditions you are working in, the heat,
the confined spaces, you have to look after each other and there is no
room for backbiting - you would not get very far if there was," he
says.

Uncertain Future

The journey back towards the lift shaft is also by
conveyor belt, this time riding on top of the newly cut coal which is
still warm and damp from the shearing machine.

This daily descent and rise used to be made by 2,000
miners at Harworth, now it is only 300 - with another 150 staff who work
above ground.

Although the working relationship among the team is
strong, morale has been hit says Dave McGarry, as we wait for the paddy
train back.

"Not many people who work here live in the village
any more, you can't go for a drink after work with everyone like we used
to," he says.

At 42, Dave is pondering the future of the industry
that he joined straight from school in 1978.

"We've agreed a five year plan here at Harworth and I
reckon there's maybe another five years after that but who knows?

"I do wonder what would I do if the pit shut down. I
had a bad accident three years ago and crushed my hand, so what work
would there be for me?

"It's worrying when you think what's out there -
sandwich factories in Worksop and the like."

UK Coal, the company that owns Harworth and the
majority of the remaining 12 deep pits, last week posted improved
results but mining is still an industry facing huge challenges.

Riding the lift back to the light and fresh air of
the surface is a relief. Judging by the banter between the men of the
early shift who accompany us, they too are glad their seven hours
underground has ended for today at least.

But with three pits due to close this year at Selby,
North Yorkshire, the possibility of a life permanently above ground is
something each of Britain's 6,400 miners is having to contemplate.